Id like to add: if mc and al were close to banging [or already fucking] after mc kills their father, they will not be able to feel their legs the day after
I mean, how else is their big brother supposed to thank them for such a gift? They deserve to be praised and worshipped by the heavens for being so generous
But alas, he will have to do for now
[Al helping them walk normally to avoid suspicion]
[Also imagine mc and al poking fun at mama cause she's such a heavy sleeper! "Mama, waking you is harder then waking the dead!!"] [They don't seem to mind that aspect at night tho hehe]
-πΈ
Oh he'd go absolutely crazy over it
It's like a reward to him, really. He wouldn't be able to imagine how terrified they must have been, how much strength it must have took to not only pick up the gun but shoot it. A headshot, he must say, is well more than just impressive. It's only natural to ease their mind some other way
And, he's certainly got God's favor with just how soundless his mama sleeps at night. A tease in the morning compares to the angel sent sound of nothing to disturb them. With their father gone, and their clueless mother who rests easy at night believing she's raised them good, whose to say Alastor isn't quick to take advantage?
Let's just hope his poor, precious sibling can handle the torture their body is about to go through. They'll be able to take it all, eventually. He'll have to train their body first, keep it from breaking on him. But they'll fit the mold sooner or later. And, quite frankly, he enjoys having them lean on him throughout the day
"They slipped and fell, mama! Clumsy little thing they are, might be sore for the next few days."
The next few days consist of him testing their body to the absolute limits
"I'll turn your pure white wings to pure black. You've pushed too far and now you've lost control, can't you see? You thought you were the master but you're down on your knees. It's all for the taking, here tonight."
I lost the plot halfway through
Disclaimer: Soooo... Second time writing smut after a good long while. I had an idea for this, but as you can tell soon, it was very quickly lost. Once again, I dont support any of this irl I love my fictional sibcest
TW: Incest, allusions to intox (slight flashback), dubious consent, allusions to under age drinking (?), Alastor and the reader definitely aren't over 18 with this one, Alastor infantilizes his sibling a bit, the reader has little to no idea whats happening to their body
A/N: Holy shit. Holy shit. So many hours spent on this thing. Alastor sibcest is rotting my brain all I could think about at work today was the whole timeline for this AU
Word Count: 5.1K
And, you whined.
You whined, and once again, the bed creaked beneath the weight of your movement. From your hips all the way up to your shoulder, he watched as the mattress dipped, accommodating the familiar pressure of your body buried onto it like every groove was made purely for you. And perhaps, they were. It wasn't such a hard belief, after all. Not when your bed looked pristine and new compared to his own.
He took good care of his things. Always had, and always would. There was little he really owned all to himself. His bed, being one of them. His clothes, being another. And the sight of you tangled beneath the covers, wrapped in red cotton that dropped over your form Like ripples of waves casting over your skin, another.
And so he held onto moments like these. Moments where he could sit at his desk, writing away at papers he rarely bothered to pay half a mind too. With moments like these, he could truly allow himself to get lost in thought. To have his eyes drift off into space, falling back to the rise of your chest as you breathed, and the occasional shift of your legs. It had a quiet comfort he yearned for, a domestic sensation he clung to after it was over.
You whined again.
βFor Christ, put the book down if it's causing you so much distress.β When have you ever been the type to listen to him at this age? If anything, his gentle βremarkβ was met with you huffing like a spoiled brat. His spoiled brat, but a spoiled brat nonetheless.
βBut things are happening!β You started, like suddenly, that would make your restless responses all the more understandable to his lost mind. βYou wouldn't get it.β
He doubted that. Doubted that beyond belief, actually. There were many things he hadn't quite figured out just yet, and he was sure there were many other things to come. But a scene in a book was certainly not one of them. Not when he had spent his early years reading them to you. If it weren't for him, words would still appear as jumbled mindless scribbles on paper to you.
βI assure you, I can comprehend things far more than you could.β A tease, one that left him with the view of your back as you rolled over to block him from your gaze. A stubborn thing, you were. Stubborn and incomprehensible. For a moment, he found himself missing the pliable nature you flaunted so easily a few years back. Oh, how he desired to hear you take his word for what it was, instead of throwing a tantrum like a child.
He couldn't remember the last time you allowed yourself to be malleable to his will. Maybe a year or two, if he aligned his timeliness correctly.
The realization dawned on him. Fast, hot, scorching as the thought settled deep within his chest. Truly, when had you sought him out for the simple things you used to? The memory of a child gripping onto him with shaky fists, pleading over mindless problems that seemed so insignificant the older he got. And yet, here you were, that sweet little doll he'd huddled close to his chest during the latest nights of winter.
Had you grown apart? Of course not, that wouldn't be possible. It wasn't transcribed into the writing of his fate. Your first breath had been linked to his, and the spoken vows between you both held far more power than the average inconvenience was able to sever. Distance was not to be taken lightly, and he knew for certain that sort of thing wasn't meant for relationships like his own.
βWhatβ¦ Are you reading?β He leaned back, tilting the chair along with him. Perhaps, if he leveled himself far enough down, his eyes could catch on to the topic of importance to you.
βNothing.β The words came out fast. Faster than anything he had ever really expected from you.
βNothing?β He watched as you nodded your head in reply. Nothing, you had said. It was hard to believe. βNothingβ never seemed to involve the subtle way your body would shift in response to every turn of the page. βNothingβ had your legs clutching together with an intensity that he had rarely seen from you before.
βYou keep squinting like that, and I'll have to tell mama your cheaters aren't working too well.β With another shift, you hid the book further in front of you. He'd have scoffed had he been any less amused with your persistence. βOr, perhaps, you're fried from daddy's βspecialβ cabinet again.β
Now that was a shocker. One that had his eyes widening before he could catch himself and keep them neutral.
God, had that been such a sight. If he let himself get lost in the memory of it all, he could still feel the way your hips had rocked atop his thigh. He could remember the way your eyes had glossed over, your once wandering hands holding tightly to his wrist as he brought the bottle closer to your lips.
Father was a sleazy man, that he knew all too well. Too many nights out on the town, as his mama said. Too many nights cooped up somewhere between tight alleyways and hidden behind code locked doors, he thought. For one, the constant presence of a beer bottle or two was not something the common man would keep laying around in their kitchen. Not like such things were easily accessible.
He found himself not too upset with it that night. Not when you had leaned your head against his shoulder with a breath so shallow he had half the mind to check your pulse. Perhaps, the whines you currently made caught his attention so well, had been for the same reason the sounds you made back then had. They were almost needy.
βMon angeβ¦β He slinked himself out of his chair, careful not to startle your already racing mind as he took a seat beside you. The bed dipped, sliding you further towards him until your back landed against his knee. βWon't you show your dear brother what's got you so invested?β
You shook your head. No good, he thought. No good at all. Not that your response held all that much more power over him. You may be the difficult type around an age like this, but when has he ever been one to settle for such defiance? You loved your brother, you needed your brother, and if he had to remind you of a fact as simple as that, then he'd carry forward.
βMon angeβ¦β He called out once more. This time, his hands found themselves over the dip of your waist, squeezing it slightly and reveling in the twitch your body gave in response. βDon't be such a piker. What do you have to hide from me?β
βIt's nothing, honestβ¦β Honest. Once again, he found himself doubting a silly statement of yours. When had you turned into such a little liar? He'd hate to find out some rotten old man had worked his way into your precious little head, corrupting it from the inside and straying you from your one true sanctuary.
βThen perhaps I'll join you in this indulgence of βnothingβ, since you seem to be enjoying it quite well.β His hold was steady as his arms wormed their way over the top of your hips, dragging you closer like it was the most natural thing in the world as he laid himself behind you.
βYou won't like itββ
βSure, I will.β He had been particularly fond of the way you bounced yourself over his knee last night, there was little to no reason for him not to relish your insistent squirming between paragraphs. βWhen have I ever found our activities a bore?β
Truth be told, he found more pleasure than he could ever imagine when it came to being curled against you. Every twitch of his leg had it bumping between both of your own, bleeding his warmth through the fabric of his pants and scorching your bare skin.
There was a moment of stillness from you. That was alright, he could manage. He could manage the feeling of your body stiff against his own, when he could practically feel the quickening thrum of your pulse beneath his lips the second he tucked his face into the crook of your neck. It'd been far too long since he had indulged in the act. The sickening ache that borrowed its way deep into every crevice of his bones and tore at him from the inside out.
βAlastorβwe're not children anymore!β As if that meant anything to him. As if he honestly cared about something so trivial and meaningless. He'd never been the type to mull over something as unimportant as societal standards. Not when it came to you and the heaven he built underneath the sheets of his bed. This wasn't an act of childish affection, it was the will of love. Pure, honest, unadulterated love.
Teenagers were foolish. Never once treading the line between childish antics and acting their age, and still expecting to be treated as an adult. You unfortunately fell under the category of talking too big and yet being so small. How many times would you bark before you realized you didn't have the strength to bite? How fun it would be, though. To feel the tips of your teeth sink into the muscle of his flesh and peirce the bone.
βStop itβIt's not funny!β And despite yourself, your neck seemed to present itself so beautifully to the slick sensation of his tongue lapping against it. His mouth agape ever so slightly to place an open mouthed kiss over the trembling area.
βPay me more mind. Haven't you noticed how much I've missed you all day?β He mumbled, tasting the racing pulse hidden away between the protective layers of your skin. It would be so easy, he thought. How right it would feel to bite down on the lingering beat of what kept your breath flowing.
And perhaps, you'd enjoy it. He wouldn't put it against you if you did. After all, it was only natural to enjoy such things at an age like this. The cycle of when a child grows old, the mind awakening with new sensations to wean on and crave like they're needed to survive. It wasn't necessarily needed, per se. Although the others in his class often acted like it was.
Disgusting, vile creatures who took and took and never gave back. A tragedy it would be to have you turn out like them. You had to be led. Guided to the right path. If he knew you well enough, which he did, that sense of unfamiliarity radiated off every hesitant bump of your hips backing onto him.
Was last night not fresh in your mind as it had been for him? It wasn't uncommon for a lightweight to forget sequences throughout the adventure. And for you, he wondered if the occasional sip of moonshine from his cup had given a more potent effect than he would have preferred.
βYou've missed me too, yes?β The hitch of your breath told him all he needed to know. A better answer than any words you could have given him. It'd be selfish of him to say he'd been longing for something like this for a good long while. Everything that grows must be given the correct space to do so, he knew that well enough.
But he couldn't blame himself for the hatred that boiled beneath his skin every second you spent parted. Quite the temptation, you were. He'd have to admit, if this was a game you were playing to keep him begging, it almost worked.
An absence of a conversation or two was nothing short of unbearable. A personal hell appointed onto him by the devil himself to punish him. Punish him for what? He wasn't sure. Fate picked favorites, and if he continued to play his cards right, then the growing distance between his precious biche and him would finally come to its stop.
βYou're being mean again.β When had he ever been mean to a sweet thing like you? All bark, no bite, he reminded himself. All bark, barely sizable teeth to leave any lasting damage. But, the sight of you trying was enough of a thrill.
Truth be told, it really was. It'd been tearing at him from the inside out, digging its nails into the essence of his beating heart and ripping each pulse into an unsalvageable mess. He'd begun to miss the feeling of your patient finger tips picking up the pieces and rebuilding him whole. You'd picked at the new leaves blooming from your branches, mending his broken crown and weaving both your roots together to form a new tree of life.
βPut the book down. Speak to me. Let me hear your voice.β He didn't have to beg. Not for too long, at least. The sound of pages fluttering before the impact of each side collided together with a slam.
And, just like that, the story was long forgotten. Tossed to the side like an unnecessary detail to his climax.
βWhats gotten you so worked up?β Part of him had to hold back the more harsher question. What's got you acting wretched?
A silence fell over you. Not the comfortable ones he had gotten so used to over the years. The ones that had breathed its first breath of life the moment you'd rest yourself against him and the sounds of your distant wandering mind would lull him into a sleep as steady as yours.
You didn't look at him. Not at first. And certainly, not after he tugged your body a little closer to him. He could feel your warmth, the way it radiated in little waves and blended in with his own. It was natural, a way of life built in long before humanity had learned why specific events caused specific changes in the body.
βSomethingsβ¦ Wrong with me.β You whispered. Low enough that he almost hadn't caught the words.
βNonsense, there's nothing wrong with you. What has you thinking such a thing?β With his thigh still planted between yours, the way you clenched them was far more than noticeable.
βBut there is.β He felt as you shifted before him, pressing your back against his chest like you had done so many times before. In reply, he found himself buried back into the curve of your neck, mouthing it mindlessly as he waited for you to continue. βI don't know what it isβ¦ but it hurts.β
Hurts. It hurts you. If something had been causing you pain, why hadn't you told him? It was unusual. Not only unusual, it was wrong. Wrong in every sense of the word. Wrong in a way that had an unfamiliar lump form in the back of his throat, blocking any attempt at swallowing in the air he so desperately needed at that moment.
βTell your brother what's wrong. What has you hurting?β He couldn't afford to raise his voice any octave higher than a mumble spoken before the thrumming of your pulse.
You shook your head, silent once more. That would do him no good, not if he planned to repair what little dependency you still held for him. He couldn't bear the thought of your distance any longer. There was no joy in the flush of your skin against his own if there were no emotions to go with it.
Slowly, his hand slipped under the hem of your pajamas, the cotton fabric bunching up as his wrist disappeared from the open space of the room. He felt as you shivered, racking your body against his own with a twitch heavy enough to cause your stomach to flex beneath the subtle circles his thumb made.
βYou won't like itβ¦β Finally, you breathed out.
βNot this again.β There was little confidence in your statement. A lie, if anything. There was little to no reason to believe such a thing. Had he found himself disliking it, he'd be sure to keep such a fact hidden far away from your fragile little mind. βDon't act stubborn. How am I supposed to help you when you don't let me in?β
Clearly, you weren't too fond of such a question. A huff escaping your lips as you struggled in his hold, whining once you realized he truly had no plans of letting you go. The bed creaked once more, earning another exasperated sound from you. He'd thought the mattress had insulted you to your face, the way your eyes glared down at it.
βI just hurt sometimes. Right here.β Your palm pressed over the area his thumb continued to trace. Not exactly the abdomen, never reaching above your naval, but somewhere further down. That small spot over your pelvis.
βThat's where you hurt, Mon ange?β He couldn't help the condescension that bled through the feigned concern. It tainted his words, dripping from each syllable like oil into an ocean of swimming thoughts.
βmhm.β You nodded stiffly.
Silly, he thought. Silly, indeed. Silly that he had himself worried over nothing. Even as his heart continued to send each brutal pound of his heart straight to his aching ribs, counting the time until it broke free from its cage and spilled all over the messy sheets of his bed, he found himself amused.
Had you really no idea? The others at his school had long since figured out the true pleasures their body constructed under the right circumstances. Talks of experimentation littering the cramped halls, filling the air with tall tales of the heights found behind locked doors.
There was a time in one's life where they allowed themselves the wandering hands of their own, pumping and stroking sensitive flesh under personal satisfaction. A moment of awakening that opened the doors of self discovery and challenged self control.
How easy it was to fall to the temptation of lust, during that stage.
βI should head back to my room now.β Your voice cut through, tearing his focus away from the thoughts beginning to spiral around the formation of an inkling idea. A realization, too, if his prediction was correct.
βAnd why is that?β How he relished the way your stomach flexed under the rising pressure of his hand, pushing down over the top of your womb and forcing out a sound he hadn't heard from you before.
Your body seemed to curl in on itself, squeezing his thigh between your own and bringing it up with them. Not that he hadn't already planned to follow along. Second nature, it was. The irresistible urge to nudge it up just a little further until he felt the familiar sensation of your core's warmth.
He wouldn't doubt that last night stirred something in you.
βAre you hurting again?β Right then, he was reminded exactly of why he'd done half the things he's done in his life. Why, since the moment you took your first breath, he'd been relentless. βDoes your tummy hurt?β
Perhaps, it was a condescending term to use during such a vulnerable moment. βTummyβ, as if you were nothing more than a helpless child. Still, he didn't deny the way your hips seemed to buck forward at the word. There was nothing for you to rock against. Not yet, at least. But there was no denying he wondered how you'd react when there was.
βYou're making it hurtβ¦β Your words were breathless. Pleading, almost. He had a sneaking suspicion that you didn't know exactly what you were begging for. βFeels weird, Alβ¦ achy..β
βNo, noβ¦β You whined, enough to get a pause from his wandering hand. βYou'll make it worse. You always do.β
βI always do?β He couldn't bite back the laugh, muffling it against the skin of your neck and he placed an open mouth kiss directly over your quickening pulse. His favorite spot, he recently learned. How he'd kill to keep it all to himself for the rest of his life.
Naive, you were. A fact he'd learned not recently, but during the earliest stages of his childhood. He'd remember the way your eyes widened, glossy and clear and so full of amazement like he had plucked a single star from the side and placed it in the palm of your hands. He hadn't done any of such greatness, but it was fun to pretend like he did when another lie would fall from his lips. And, every time, you'd be gullible enough to believe it.
And perhaps, that was the reason why he found you so sickeningly sweet. Pure cane sugar that rotted his teeth the second he peeled and split you open the second he sunk them in. God, what he wouldn't do to pull back the feeble flesh trembling beneath every gentle kiss.
βHow silly.β The statement had done more to him than he was willing to admit. βSince when has your brother caused you any pain? Don't you trust me, Mon ange?β
A very special age, you were at. He had neglected such a fact for far too long. He was careless, and look where it got him? The sight was enjoyable, yes. But you hadn't, for a single second, considered him an option. An option of who gets to know what's been keeping you so restless as of late.
βYou keep making my tummy hurt.β He watched as your body shuttered, the words shaking from your lips as he grazed his finger over cotton. βHurting moreβ¦β
A liar he'd be to say he found no arousal at the sound of such a childish term on your tongue.
βI can soothe the ache, too. Trust your dear brother.β Like you really had any choice in the matter. Like it hadn't been his words since day one, guiding you, teaching you, breaking you from the inside out.
Your breath hitched once his finger tips pressed over that small patch of cotton, feeling the way it stuck to your skin, covered completely with the evidence left behind from⦠What, exactly? What an ego boost it would be to say it was from his presence alone. By the looks of it, though, it was a strong possibility.
Although, that had been when you weren't quite all there. Your incoherent begs left nothing to the idea that you might have been anything less than wasted.
There was a moment of silence from you, excluding the gasp you choked out at the sudden pressure against the bundle of nerves crackling with a pleasure you had little time to get used to. And then, you shook your head. Too hesitant for his liking.
βMon angeβ¦β He started again, feeling the way your thighs clamped together, squeezing his hand and practically trapping it in place.
βBlurry.β Seemed to be the only answer he could coax out of your before your hips bucked toward, a whimper ripping from your lips at the friction it caused.
Blurry, you had said. Blurry in what way? Blurry, as in, you'd given yourself the means to bring on an experience you could barely handle yourself. Or, Blurry, as in, your body remembered the remnants of last night even if your brain couldn't.
A beautiful idea that was. That despite a foggy mind, his touch had imprinted itself within your flesh and bone like it had always meant to.
βRelax yourself, I mean no harm.β It took a while before the stiffness in your thighs faded to nothing, leaving them malleable to his will. βFeel thisβ¦?β
Your breath hitched as his fingers pressed a little harder to your sensitive nub, the friction covered by the fabric of your panties. A sensation he was sure you weren't too familiar with. Not without the influence of intoxication seeping through the cracks and turning off any cognitive thought.
βIt aches too, doesn't it?β He hummed as you nodded, relishing the way your folds parted easily beneath his intrusion, making way for the beginning cycles of movement, circling around in sync with every throb he felt.
He didn't push it too far, not yet. Not when you seemed so hesitant for him to continue. He knew, you knew, you needed this. And, if the shift of his hips hadn't been too much of a sign, then the straining in his jeans made his own need perfectly clear.
Most men would kill for a predicament like this. The majority never got the chance. And yet, here he was, the lucky boy he got to be to feel your legs tremble with each flick of his finger.
βAβAlastorβ¦β Another buck of your hips sent it flying into each stroke, grinding your clit along with the overwhelming sensation, speeding to a pace that bellowed with need.
The next man would find himself staring down the barrel of a gun if he ever tried to rip this out of Alastor's grasp. He'd be no stranger to violence. His hands still held the remains of teeth, sticks, and glass. Discolored and scarred from old youthful outbursts. Too many times he had been sent home with blood clinging to his nail beds.
You whined as he pulled his finger back. Not for long, he noted, before delving them back down.
Warm, slick heat welcoming him whole as your folds parted for him once more. Stroke after stroke, he could feel the juices coating every inch of his finger, clinging to his skin as if it begged to suffocate him.
βI know, Mon angeβ¦ The first few times are always such a hassle. Too sensitive for your own good.β He murmured, biting into the flesh of your neck and earning a whimper in reply. A beautiful gift, he'd say so himself. One he planned to treasure for a time long after this was finished.
Exploring, he'd define it as. Teaching, too, with the way his teeth would sink into your skin every time he felt like you might be drifting off. You couldn't miss this. The clouds could wait, right now, he needed your full attention.
βJust keep breathing for meβ¦ You want to make your brother proud, don't you?β And proud he was. Proud with every twitch of your thighs, trembling the longer his finger traced the inner workings of your warmth. The throbbing bundle of flesh preening the second his focus was back on it.
βWeird, Alβ¦ Tummy hurtsβ¦ I can'tββ The power wasn't yours. And truthfully, it never had been. There wasn't a second in your life where he'd ever grant you enough power to be independent in the long run.
You could handle this, he knew you could. And if you couldn't, then, what kind of brother would he be to leave you to pick up the pieces? He'd guide you back, as he always did. And, he always knew he'd be doing. It had been written into his DNA, carved into his bone and scrawled into every matter that made up his brain.
Destiny, some would call it. A fate he believed in.
βFeels like I'm gonna peeβ!β He'd have laughed at such a statement, had he not been so focused on circling the nerves keeping you from falling over the edge.
Beautiful. That's what this was. It was a word that stuck to him like the blood left over from a hunt, soaking through every little pore in his skin and tainting him with the constant reminder of the kill. You looked beautiful. Your hands reaching behind yourself to tangle in his hair, gripping it with an intensity that bordered on fear.
Did you have any thoughts as he worked himself faster between your legs? Or had your mind gone blank, incoherent and helpless to the occasional thrust of his hips colliding with your lower back? What he wouldn't do to carve open your skull and play around with it.
βAlastorβ!β The way your fingers yanked at his hair, impulsive at best, had him burying his face back into your shoulder. An option he didn't mind all that much, considering it allowed him to soak in every spasm your body gave. Your body felt tight, throat sore as he listened to you moan his name one last time.
His touch never ceased, but he was gracious. Gracious enough to slow down each massage, savoring the way your body moved on its own, riding the pad of his finger while you whined. If he inched himself further down, he'd be able to feel the way your entrance clenched.
Next time, he promised. Next time, when you would feel needy and needed something to ease the growing desperation.
After a moment, your body began to slow. Your breathing, although still raggedy and lacking any real stability, would soon calm itself down enough to keep you from gasping for air. And, despite the twitch of your legs, he'd feel the way they tightened around his arm, keeping him close.
βSee?β Another kiss found its way to the back of your neck. βI can make you feel all better.β
Alastor would ADORE dressing his sibling up everyday
Mama assumed that after Alastor learned how to dress himself, mc just picked it up after him! That's how it's always been after all
but no, Alastor is a clever boy and quickly find out that if he can take his clothes off then... he can take mc's clothes off too
'Mama has been stressed lately' he thinks as he stares at their pajamas, he's seen mama undress them before and committed that to memory [like everything else about them]
So he just starts doing it for their mother and she is none the wiser, praising them for getting all dressed up by themselves!!
I can see Alastor having a eye for fashion so they're always well dressed
He always kisses their forehead after finishing dressing them up
-πΈ
STOPPPP WEBBY THIS IS ADORABLE
This sweet, sweet, attentive little boy <3
Maybe he doesn't exactly realize it yet. Or maybe he does. Either way, every little action that feeds further into the belief that he's in control only continues to curate the same mindset. They need to depend on him. They need him to dress them, to clean them, to care for them. There's no need for them to do anything for themselves, when Alastor is always so willing and ready to do it for them at any given time
He'd love dressing them up in such classy outfits, too. The cover of a person is what has people guessing. Dress too immodestly, you'll be deemed the scum under a powerful man's boot. Dress too adorned, and the people will think of you as snobbish. A tricky world to venture, he realized far too soon
Humble is best, he'd say. Humble and modest. Despite that, there was a certain pleasure he found in having complete control of what they'd wear. Innocent enough to look past, but it held a certain desire beneath it. Not like anyone else would see how theyre dressed, anyway. An adorable little doll he could play make believe with!
Not like they'd ever deny him of anything. Their eager little nods as he'd pluck an outfit from their closet, holding it up to their curious eyes and presenting yet another option. In the corner, there's already begun a pile of clothes they had either rejected or worn
The thing about Charlie in all this is like,,, even though she's kind of sheltered, she grew up in hell. Surely incest isn't the worst thing she'd seen in over 200 years
Not to mention the sheer amount of incest even in the bible?? Even just with Adam and Eve they had enough kids to intermarry and literally populate humanity
Anyway, in my mind Charlie's thoughts are 'Well, I've definetly seen more toxic relationships, but maybe I should ask them to keep it private for the hotels sake.'
Charlie, my sweet girl, I love you
I just know her desensitized mindset has vaggi SCREAMING at the top of her lungs
She'd surely be more neutral about their relationship. Not exactly open to it, but as you've mentioned, it's also not the worst thing she's seen. She'd feel more sympathy than disgust, if anything. More sympathy than any of the other hotel residents, anyway
One of the main reasons she can't find it in herself to kick them out, is simply because she genuinely wants them to get better. She sees their hurt, their pain, the torment they endured. It practically wraps its cords around her metaphorical heart, digging deep into the thrumming flesh and tugging it further and further into a specific state of mind
One that, to alastors advantage, he'd exploit to his own will. After all, she's the reason they have a bed to share. To know that could be so easily removed the moment she begins to get her head straight enough to realize they have no plans to change, he's more than willing to guilt trip her back to zero
Ooooooggh vinnie hear me out.... What if Al's sibling killed their father?
What if their father found out about their relationship while al and mama aren't home?
Imagine Alastor finding MC crawled up in the corner, sobbing and trembling like a leaf, as they clench their father's hunting rifle to their chest
A bullet lodged in their father's skull, a headshot. ["Try aiming for the head, darling, it'll make the deer's death quick and painless!"]
They try to explain that father attacked them and they didn't want to kill father in between sobs and dry heaves, their eyes unable to leave the corpse
How do you think he'd react?
-πΈ
HIIII WEBBY I MISSED YOUUU
Okay, okay, revealing myself once again and crawling out of the dirt. Mind the blood beneath my nails, it's not necessarily mine
ANYWAY
God, would he be delighted. Delighted in every sense of the word. He'd be shocked, yes. A moment or two of silence as his eyes cast down on the blood pooling at his feet, sticking to them like viscous leech that never quite learned how to take a 'no'. And then, after a few beats of his heart, his eyes would fall to them
He was always proud of them. From the moment they took their first breath, all the way down to the tremble in their hands and their doe eyed stare. He'd have cooed at the resemblance of a fawn their body made as it curled in on itself, but he was fully aware of the circumstances they were in
"Oh, Ma biche... What a predicament you've put yourself in." It's almost condescending, the way his eyes squint down at them, the corners of his lips twitching slightly in restrained amusement
He'd listen to them whine. Beg a few words. A few pleas of forgiveness. And perhaps, part of him allowed it to continue so long purely because he relished in the desperation that clung to each choked sob. He'd never said it, but something seemed to spark in him like a crackle from a flame, something that enjoyed seeing them so at his mercy
And proud he was. Prouder then he could ever express in words. For all he'd care, the blood on your hands practically held the same honorary as the men who hung the stars in the midnight sky. The crickets silenced behind the house, just as the wildlife ceased their mindless chatter
It wouldn't be below him to assume it was simply a play of the mind. After all, who was he, if he was not admiring their ravishing existence? If god hadn't granted him the gift of sight, then perhaps the world around him wouldn't have been so meaningless compared to their heated skin
He'd watch, adored and wanting, as they'd melt into his hand. The hand he stretched out, cradling the structure of their jaw and tracing the outlines their tears left behind.
"Don't fret. Allow me to handle this." As if they didn't already know the way things played out between them both. But, it never hurt to remind them of that fact. He'd handle it, like he'd always done. Like they depended on him too. The situation might have slipped from his grasp, but there wasn't anything he couldn't fix
I also think, with the pure proof sitting before him of what exactly theyre capable of, he'd enjoy testing out their limits. Coaxing them into more sinful acts just to see their reactions. In fact, down the line, he'd allow them to invest their time in his own little 'hobby'. There was much to learn from someone like him, and much to be taught for someone like his sibling
Hope you're doing all right!! Love your work ππππ
ANSWERING THIS FOR A SECOND TO TELL YOU ALL I'M STILL ALIVE!!
Busy. Very busy. BUT ALIVE!
I've been writing something on an off between work, family business, and other interpersonal relationships that have me feeling like I'm shuttering out the very last few breaths I'm capable of on my death bed
And as an apology for the prolonged absence, take this proof of me working on something:
So Al is a serial killer and a pretty prolific one at that so obviously there would be true crime content about him
im wondering if ppl in the future would ever find out about the incest basically, maybe a lover letter or risque photo was found decades later and added a whole new layer to the situation lolol
I really like the idea that Alastor would spend a good amount of his free time writing love letters for his sibling. It's something I hope to expand upon later on or at least reference in a story or two!
So, with that in mind, it's highly likely that they'd eventually get discovered by the authorities once they start their investigations on the multiple murders in new Orleans
Actually, I can imagine him gaining a fan base as well. I mean, C'mon, he's a true romantic at heart who killed his father to protect his sibling and kept them safe from a world he believed would 'hurt them'. I'm sure out there on the internet there's a few Gothic romance fanatics who take serious situations too playfully and adore him down
The thought of one of those fans dying and showing up in hell is also hilarious. Imagine their reaction to meeting the man, the myth, the legend himself in all his (demon) glory and finding out that, yes, he was, in fact, in love with his sibling. It's just question after question after question after question and then the eventual sound of teeth tearing into limbs and their body left to rot somewhere on the streets of hell. They annoyed him, in Alastor's defense
Imagine after mc moves in, Vincent has them going to a fancy party with him for a little fun [he totally didn't tell everyone that he's bringing his partner, totally]
"Play along, they'd never let me invite a sibling to something like this anyway."
mc is so awestruck by all the celebrities talking to them that they don't notice Vincent slipping something a little stronger into their drink and get a little too drunk
They'd joke about not remembering being this much of a lightweight back in high school and Vincent would chuckle like a predator as he carries them to their room, their Vinnie is so strong now
He'd lay them down onto their bed and before they can fully doze off, he's on top of them.
"Vinnie? W-What are you doβ"
They try to protest before he smashes his lips against theirs, forcing his tongue into their mouth in the process as his hands grab whatever he can get his greedy hands on
Vincent is many things, bright, witty, determined, handsome even! But he is not patient, no no no
He PLEADS with them to just let it happen and it'll only happen once [not true]
Its not like he's asking for their hand in marriage, right? They can do this for him, right?
-πΈ
Hey, so, webby. I love you dearly, sweet thing. If I see something like this in my inbox again I am not held responsible for how many news outlets I'll be seen on /pos
Like, I really wish I was joking. The EMOTIONS I felt reading this is highk embarrassing to me because I've never been more turned on by an idea in my life
Yes. Yes I will gladly imagine this scenario. How did you know intox and noncon/dubcon were my two main kinks. Vincent doesn't even try to hide his incestuous feelings towards them anymore, not after he's waited so long for them to come back home. He's eager and he's needy and he needs them now
If anything, they should be lucky its him who's doing this and not some random stranger who probably wouldn't even know what you looked like bare until that moment. (Not that he would ever admit to peeking behind the unlocked bathroom door on occasion.) Hell, whose to say they shouldn't feel happy, too! Its their precious brother using their body for his own pleasure. Someone who knows them better than any of these other pathetic, degenerate, drips ever could
You mentioned in one of your posts something about how the sibling character youβve crafted for Vox doesnβt really notice that Voxβs feelings towards them arenβt familial, at what point do you think they notice? And how do they react?
Side note if you do end up creating a separate account for Vox too drop the link and I am so there!!
Hi, telly!!
Okay, okay, trying to get back into my groove with this one guys work with me here
So, I'll be honest, I do have a very slight theme here with how I prefer my Sibling!Readers... That is so say, they're typically oblivious for the most part. Now, with Alastor's sibling, while they focus on not fully comprehending the dire consequences of incest due to long term grooming, Vox's Sibling falls under the category of "One is fully aware its incest while the other isn't". To them, everything they do is completely normal and platonic. Whether that be showering their poor younger sibling in as many kisses as his heart could handle, cuddling up together during cold nights under their blanket, or even bursting into his room unannounced without bothering to knock
It's not necessarily malicious, more so ditzy. There's no subtext to be found with them. Because, at the end of the day, they don't have any kinds of feelings to hide. They take on a more parental role in their younger sibling's life. With their father being neglectful and verbally abuse, and their mother out of the house a year after Vincent was born, they feel its their responsibility to be everything they think he needs
Except, being everything all of the time is what leads to Vincentβs eventual decent into a paraphilia. And from there, starts the upcoming storyline of how their life turns out
Vincent starts off subtle, I like to think. He doesn't immediately act on his thoughts. But, of course, he's never been known to be a patient man. Orβboyβin this situation. He's impulsive, quick thinking, and often times manipulative. Except, he doesn't like to think hes being manipulative
As a child, he became very aware of how easy it is to get his older sibling to fold over the slightest things. He's told he can't stay up late to listen to his favorite radio show? A simple whine is all it takes to get them to reevaluate themselves and their answer. They try getting him to sleep in his own bed after laying with them for an hour? All he has to do is guilt trip them into taking it all back
So, with that in mind, and taking into account they tend to spoil him at any given chance, he's quick to take advantage of that. With that, we move onto the main point
They start noticing his shift in behavior around the age he turns 15-16. Once thought innocent gestures seem to take on a more... 'lustful' approach. The sweet boy who'd beg for a kiss goodnight would eventually start requesting ones that would last a little longer than they're used to
"Vinnie, baby, aren't you getting too old for this sorta thing?"
"Are you kidding me? Why are you acting like I'm making you do this? Didn't you say you love me? If you don't care about me just say it. Leave me to rot while you go do whatever it is you do nowadays."
He doesn't shut up once their lips meet his forehead
"That's not a real goodnight kiss. You know that."
Eventually, they begin to notice more subtle things as well. Clothes, pillows, bedsheets, and valuables missing from their room. Vincent says he has no idea where they go, and yet sometimes, they'll find an old pillow tucked away beneath his bed
He gets touchy, too. More possessive with his hold. Its not like the childish tantrums he used to throw when he was younger, these ones seem like they aim to kill. His eyes darting between person to person, glaring at the way they all seem to smile at his sibling
They try, desperately, to chalk it up to "boys being boys'. The boy lacked any real friends at school, and he certainly didn't have any responsible parents to coddle his needs. Surely, this was to be expected
We reach the point of denial. Denial and guilt and shame that swell deep within the pit of their stomach, boiling up bile in the back of their throat that they swallow back. They're malleable to his will, and he knows that. If anything, with the right words, it won't take too long before he convinces them to really allow themselves to indulge
Suffering from the worst writers block imaginable right now
I have at least five Google docs open right now, each one only having around like three paragraphs each, and they're all awkwardly phrased and lacking my usual flare
HOW DO I FIND MY MOTIVATION, I SOUND LIKE AN IDIOT WHEN I'M SUFFERING FROM LACK OF INSPIRATION </333
Vox posting before I go to sleep because I need to get this horrific, freakish, grotesque and disgusting thought out of my mind before I try to get through some more asks tomorrow
Imagine virgin younger brother Vincent who doesn't know much of anything about sex, touching himself for the first time after weeks of built up sexual frustration. It's been so long since he's seen his older sibling, keeping himself occupied by any means necessary while they're off at college. And, to his lack of concern, the only thing getting him off is the thought of them riding him like no tomorrow. Their words of praise whispered between choked moans as they coax him through an orgasm. Because, fuck, if the thought of them teaching him how to overwork his own body doesn't do something to his crumbling self restraint. It's almost pathetic his fast his fist pumps at the fantasy of them guiding him through it all, explaining everything one by one like he was still a child. He wasn't, but a part of him craved the emphasis of their age gap
Oooooo consider vox with a sibling who stayed in their hometown
He rarely calls nowadays, too busy being the new hot shot news anchor [and killing people] and they miss him dearly but don't want to bother him
But one very bad day, he just can't take it and as he gets in his car, his hands already moving his car to go home
But no, not the nice apartment he bought here in the big city, his real home
The small town where everyone knows everybody, the small town where they are.
he NEEDS to hear about how they saw him on TV and were so proud of him, that he earned their praise...
"Would you ever consider moving to the city with me?"
He hopes their answer is a yes to make things easier for the both of them because he isn't leaving without them, not this time.
-πΈ
WEBBY. WEBBY YOU SAVED ME. THANK YOU.
I was actually dying from lack of inspiration and writers block today and holy shit did this just jump start something in me. My brain. It craves for Vox sibcest
With the sibling!Reader I have in mind, I can absolutely see them following him to the ends of the earth. For the longest time they were there to raise him, care for him, give him the time and attention neither there parents could. When he was sick, they'd boil up a nice homemade soup they knew he'd be able to stomach. When a grade came back with anything less than an A, they argued with their father for hours about how hard Vincent works to keep his good grades. They volunteered for every school event just to see the way his eyes would light up after searching the room helplessly like a lost duck
If anything, after he left, they weren't exactly sure what to do with themselves. They had hobbies, yes. Friends, fans, parties, the occasional fling that never lasted too long. But if anything, their main joy was coming home to Vincent
They'd fold under zero pressure, if anything. They knew how big he had gotten, how he made a name for himself. And by God, were they proud. They weren't completely aware of his crimes. Not yet, at least. But that didn't matter in the moment. What mattered was that their baby boy was home and all grown up
And with Vincent? For the first time in a good long while did he feel whole. Never completely whole, that wasn't in the cards for someone like him. But it was the closest he could get to it. He couldn't help the way his hands would shoot out, gripping their arms like a mad man at the altar desperate for some sense of salvation. He'd bury his face into the crook of their neck, breathing them in with deep inhales. They smelled good, they smelled like home
Because, honestly and truthfully, thats what they were. Home. Home he swore to himself he'd never leave again. Home that he could help but want to dig himself in, raw and complete and without the worry of expectations to be great. With them, he didn't have to try to be the best. To them, he already was
With the amount of love making Alastor and his sibling had done, one would think his sibling is already pregnant. Oh and that would be scary and fascinating at the same time.. I wonder how the child would look like? π
Ohhh-ho-hoooo don't get me started
When we're discussing what their human forms would pop out with, I feel like there's some things we'd need to go over. And, to go along with some of it, I quite literally did some research about the biological affects of incestuous relationships and also a little more basic human biology. Although, I won't be getting too much into it with the incestuous consequences of having a baby
Now, when we consider the possibilities of what our human siblings might have created, I think its safe to say the baby would take more of Alastor's appearance. Simply because, darker skin tones and curly hair are dominant genes that are more likely to transfer to a child. Not only that, I feel like they're more likely to have glasses as well, considering Alastor does as well
Depending on if you believe Alastor and his sibling to be biologically related, there are a couple risks that would be involved. For example, there's a chance the baby might end up being premature. Which, in of itself isn't too bad of a thing, if they had the more advanced technology that we do to keep a baby alive when born early
Although, from what I've read, there have been some studies that show that malformations/complications aren't immediate unless there was a continuous history of inbreeding within a family. So, by all means, they could have a 89% healthy child together. At least, if neither of them carried any sort of recessive genetic disease.
Either way, the baby would look similar to Alastor. Of course, because his genes aren't too selfish, I'd say parts of his sibling linger within their child's appearance as well.
In my head, I imagine them having a daughter. One with long, curly hair that reaches down to her shoulders. For the kind of hair type I imagine her to have exactly would probably be something like 3A. And, of course, she'd wear the sweetest little dress that Alastor had tailored to fit her exactly. Not only is he spoiling her rotten, but he wants to give her a life better than he ever had
Alastor amping up his affections to piss vaggi off but stopping whenever someone else so she looks insane is looking is so funny to me
like grabbing their ass [he is a ass man. To me] and shoving his tongue down their throat whenever she's in the room lolol
OHHHHMFG
This absolute fucker of a man would take every opportunity to rage bait vaggi more then he already is by simply existing. Not only is he going out of his way to make her uncomfortable with his hand pressed firmly over his sibling's ass, but he's very quickly proceeding to turn it up a notch by sliding his tongue past their tips and drinking up the broken syllables they try to pronounce
He's never slow with it. Never once does he find himself pecking a single kiss to their lips. Because, that's just never enough for a man who bathes in the sight of reactions far too exaggerated for the average person. Vaggi doesn't just frown. She doesn't cross her arms and look the other way. No, she fumes with rage. She drops any look of content that she previously had, replacing it with a dropped jaw, nails that dig into the skin of her trembling fists, and visibly strained muscles as she keeps herself from lunging at him
He knows she hates him. He also knows how much she hates what he's done to them. Not that there has ever been any real reason to hate him nor his actions. Which, in his opinion, have always been something to be honored instead of looked down on. And so, he finds a sick pleasure in watching her go insane the second she attempts to convert the attention of others. Especially in the early days of their meetings, when no one truly knows exactly what he's up to
"Are youβ? There's no way none of you saw that!? He justβ and then heβ"
"Vaggi... Alastor isn't the kind of person to do that! It's just the stress getting to you. Maybe you need to take a break?"
"Charlie!! He just tongue fucked his sibling in front of me, I am not going crazy!!!"
Imagine little Vincent doing a fake news broadcast for older sibling! Reader with little drawings, a cardboard box for a desk n everything π’π’ that's too cute
they cheer him on and clap at the end, finding his playful imagination so cute
-πΈ
WEBBY NOOOO I WAS THINKING OF THIS AT WORK ALL DAY
I'm so obsessed with the thought of baby Vincent seeing his older sibling as his biggest inspiration. The desperate attempts to earn their praise by going out of his way to seem over the top and theatrical. And you know, every single time, they would indulge him in every little way his heart desired
Sure, as he'd grow older, colder, resentful, that once loving relationship would form into occasional outbursts and hurtful phrases. But, before that time comes, and the weight of expectations settles over his shoulders, he's fully content being the apple of their eye
He'd build the desk with cardboard left out from school projects he never bothered to really finish, the stereotypical coffee mug tapped to the unsteady surface after being stolen from the kitchen downstairs. Behind him, a long sheet of paper colored all in blue with a few different shapes littered throughout it. The shapes consisting of a white mess of lines circled around one another to reflect what they assumed to be that of tornado. Darker, more pronounced lines of blue scratched along the top corners above something that looked similar to their home town, along with a little cloud hovering above it
And, of course, how could he ever forget? Three sheets of blank paper he'd flip through while he spoke, mumbling and stuttering over a few different words as he made them up on the spot. Rain at fourβNo, six? Or, wait... Tornado? Oh they look sad, nevermind, sunny days for the rest of the week!
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